


The Amber Stone

by foxinthestars



Category: Cadfael Chronicles - Ellis Peters
Genre: Blanket Permission, Gen, Warning: Christocentrism (in historical context)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:39:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5453675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxinthestars/pseuds/foxinthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In olden days, gems as well as herbs were thought to have healing powers. Cadfael knows better — but beyond the realm of knowledge, faith still remains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Amber Stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/down/gifts).



> Thanks to beta reader Isis.
> 
> Anyone who wants to use my work as a basis for their own fanfic, fanart, podfic, translation, etc. has my permission to do so. Just credit me as appropriate.

In that summer of 1141, scarcely a week had passed since the anniversary of the translation of Saint Winnifred. Throughout the week, heavy, sweet drops of dew at dawn made for balmy mornings that at last made way for the pure rays of summer to lay their warming hands on all, to the benediction of the harvest. The momentous events of the celebration and its aftermath seemed, like the soil, to drink the gentle moisture, settle into place, and take seed — no longer raw, fresh cuts of the spade, but just another growing place in the garden with its daily green life, its blossoms and its beetles.

And so it was on the first of July that Brother Cadfael was called away from his herb garden in the abbey to his friend Hugh Beringar’s house in the town of Shrewsbury. Ordinarily it was a happy occasion to be invited to visit Hugh, his wife Aline, and their son Giles, now some year-and-a-half old. As Giles’ godfather, Cadfael was readily given leave for such visits, but this time, he was asked to come not only as godfather, but as herbalist.

From the start, Cadfael had braced himself for the inevitability of his godson needing his arts, but in this case, bracing was hardly necessary. Little Giles had only taken the minor pox that visited most children but once, hardly ever did them lasting harm, and might even arrive half-welcome, since the harm was slighter the younger the victim. Indeed, when Aline described neighbor children speckled with scabs and nary a one coming to worse grief, Cadfael suspected she’d done little to guard her son against contagion; better to pay his tithe soon and cheap. All he needed was a lotion, so that the itching wouldn’t keep him awake or tempt him to worry at his sores.

When Constance, devoted servant now to two generations of her lady’s family, stripped the fussing child to be rubbed down with the soothing medicine, Cadfael gave no thought at first to the jewel around his godson’s neck, which she only lifted aside without removing.

When he was finished, he handed Aline the lotion jar. “The aim now is to keep him from scratching,” he said. “Keep swathing his hands as you’ve done, and use this to give him relief. He should do well enough.”

“And we’ve given him the amber stone,” Constance added, with a note of authority.

At first blush, it seemed an absurd thing for her to say. In Cadfael’s mind, stones had been left so far aside from the purpose for so long that now he encountered one, he stumbled over it. The phantom crossed his mind of his godson swallowing a honey-gold gem — costly medicine, for what bid fair to be a minor ailment! — but then he remembered Constance lifting the necklace aside, and he understood.

By that time, though, he’d let slip such a quizzical look that he had to explain himself. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted. “I’ve known those who set great store by the wearing of stones, but in my experience, they don’t have the immediate effect of herbal preparations.”

Constance said nothing, but she stared at him with sudden color in her face.

Aline stepped in to smooth out the sudden tangle. “I make no doubt your experience leads you truly in matters of medicine,” she said, with such a delicate yet particular emphasis that Cadfael knew at once his experience might be leading him astray elsewhere. “Hugh told me of your heroics in the wood,” she added, when she had seen that he understood.

So her husband had told her the story from the end of the festival: how Luc Meverel and the then-intended, later-spared object of his revenge had been hemmed in by cutthroats; how Cadfael had charged into the fray with no weapon, only a bellowing cry that by the grace of God had summoned more capable rescuers.

“You aren’t a doughty young crusader anymore,” Aline reminded him. “And having forsworn arms, at that!”

“I could not have done other,” Cadfael said.

“I know that well enough,” she admitted. “But if you chide me for fretting over you, I shall answer the same.”

Thus the matter of healing stones was brushed aside, and it may well have been forgotten entirely had Aline not touched upon it again privately to Cadfael as she saw him off.

“I do hope you will excuse Constance,” she said. “She knows many such folk remedies, but to speak as an equal to one so learned and practiced in the healing arts… It may have seemed presumptuous.”

“Not at all,” Cadfael replied. “I fear I was the one who gave offense.”

Aline smiled. “I rather think you did, but she’ll soon forgive you.”

“I meant no disrespect. True, I wouldn’t place wearing stones in the same realm as herbs, but…” He was sure of his meaning, though it was as yet half-formed, and the words arrived directly into his mouth, spoken even before fully thought. “Well, we make our prayers in many ways.”

“That we do,” Aline agreed. “And I will always spare some of mine for you. Who knows what mischief you’ll find next?”

* * *

Once Aline had plucked the incident out of oblivion, it remained lodged in Cadfael’s mind, even as he went about his work and his prayers the next day.

He knew the history, of course. Rome had lurched — if movements made over hundreds of years could be described by that word — from regarding such common charms as beneath notice, to declaring them devil’s work more grave and condemnable than murder, and back again.

The panic seemed to him misplaced. In the Beringars’ house, he’d found himself by accident in the “beneath notice” faction, but perhaps even that was less than just. After all, in this day and age at least, most of the people who worked such charms were faithful Christians who would not hesitate to credit any beneficial effects to God, no less so than a pilgrim who brought home a likely-spurious saint’s relic for much the same purposes. Cadfael could see no great harm or blasphemy in it.

And so it was an honest answer: “We make our prayers in many ways.”

An honest answer with a wry twist, in all sincere affection, at his friend’s household adorning Norman nobility with Saxon amulet stones. Who knew where Constance had learned the practice? Well, people who take a land are always in some measure of return taken by it. Cadfael knew that better than most, and his mind turned to fond memories of Antioch before wandering back to its proper business of the herbs and the horarium.

* * *

Weeks passed, and the leaves as well as the people darkened and toughened as they went about their labors under the summer sun.

Little Giles recovered from the pox without undue hardship — except, perhaps, for his parents. At first, Hugh anxiously held off his departure to Maesbury for the harvest, even as he was rousted out of his own house between the child fussing over his own discomfort and Constance jealously fussing over the child. Of course, he could claim other reasons why he was lingering in town and coming around to the herb garden more than usual, but Cadfael read him like an open book and shot him some quite pointed reassurances; they found their mark, Hugh took their meaning with his usual wry good humor, and the sheriff let himself be dismissed to the fields where he could be useful. Aline, meanwhile, bravely held her ground until all was well at last, and then she herself came to return the empty lotion jar.

She found Cadfael tying bunches of herbs to dry, and when she lent her hand to hang them up among the tie beams below the roof, he could hardly object; Aline was, he admitted, more nimble on the ladder.

 _No, dear girl_ , he thought, _I am not a doughty young crusader anymore._

After that, the weeks turned to months. Hugh brought in a good harvest at the manor and returned to Shrewsbury again; Saint Peter’s Fair came and went; and the clear weather turned dry and dusty before breaking at last in a sudden, violent downpour. Cadfael in his turn had need to call upon Aline’s practiced arts in the strange case of Julian Cruce, and Aline’s aid was crucial in delivering that bereaved lady from griefs that threatened to add to what she already suffered.

It was not until the autumn, when the season for fresh herbs was passing, that he began to take down the dried store.

He put off the task while he could, but at last he could put it off no more, and as it happened, the moment came late in the evening. This time, he was alone, Brother Oswin having gone to his service at St. Giles and no friendly visitor having happened by. Cadfael thought it not worth the trouble of going to borrow a helper, but the creaking of his joints as he mounted the ladder duly chastened him for such thoughtless pride. For the time being, though, he accepted that penance undaunted, and he came up level with the beam and lifted his candle into the darkness below the roof, so that he could see the strings to untie them.

And there, close by at his side and nestled into the joint with the rafter, the flame picked out an unexpected prism that flung stray droplets of purple light, like a flick of fingers wet with wine.

He found the pebble by feel as much as sight, and held up to the light a small gem with the kind of smooth, imperfect facets carved by nature, not by man. Amethyst — proof against intemperance, so it was said. A fine specimen of an amethyst it was, too, a dark, rich, unclouded purple; but the candle flame gilded the half of it in yellow, and it was the yellow stone to which his mind flew, back to summer and his godson’s amber charm. Now when would Constance have had the chance…?

But no. Immediately he knew that he was on the wrong track — and that he’d been a fool to think that whatever Constance had learned would have ended with her. These were the very herbs _Aline_ had hung, and he realized that she had as good as announced the intent. _“We make our prayers in many ways,”_ he had said, and she had answered, _"I will always spare some of mine for you.”_

Even without such obvious hints, he would have known the lady’s subtle touch in the enterprise. If it had been Constance, she would have hidden the stone away more thoroughly, perhaps even buried it, if only to have the better of him and his skepticism. No, this was Aline’s method, guileless yet shrewd. She had placed the stone out of the way, not readily visible, but neither had she gone to any great pains to conceal it. It was meant, sooner or later, to be known by the one on whom it asked blessing and protection, and the hand that laid it there was also meant to be known. And yet, if some stickler for Rome’s policy — Brother Jerome, perhaps — should happen to discover it, Cadfael could honestly say that it had been placed there without his knowledge. Superstition was so common that he could hardly be expected to tell which of his patients or friends from outside the enclave might have made such a gesture.

At such time, he would happily surrender the gem to add to the abbey’s coffers or to be reconsecrated into a part of some altar ornament. It would seem only right that a prayer be turned over to God.

But for now, he would let well alone. Only he indulged in a moment to appreciate the token of well-wishing from a friend.

It took a moment before he noticed: a glassy pebble on a cool autumn evening, tucked well away from the warm glow or upward draught of the brazier, and yet…

Where the jewel rested, cupped in his palm, it felt warm.

A small miracle, perhaps, warranty that this prayer, too, was heard in heaven, and Cadfael smiled as he returned it to its place and went on about his work.

 

The End


End file.
